


With You [I Feel Again]

by non_tiembo_mala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A little angst, A lot of schmoop, Bottom Sam, Brother Feels, Coda, Dean POV, Established Relationship, M/M, Missing Scene, Seriously lots of feels, Tag for Like A Virgin, Top Dean, Vulnerable Dean, Wincest - Freeform, first time in a long time, season 6 episode 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 00:51:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5027347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala/pseuds/non_tiembo_mala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam gets his soul back and Dean gets back the brother he's been missing for far, far too long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With You [I Feel Again]

**Author's Note:**

> The brother hug in this episode (S6E12 Like A Virgin) is one of my absolute favourites. I decided I needed to build on that so I wound up writing more vulnerable Dean who just loves his brother so freakin' much. Apparently I like that. Who knew? :P
> 
> The title is from One Republic's Feel Again.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

  

Even in sleep, he looked more like Sam than he had since Dean knew he was topside. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, projecting the beautiful familiarity into his brother’s features, softening them just because he desperately needed to see it, or if it was actually real; either way, Cas’ words echoed in his mind as he stood - more than a little lost - at the threshold of the panic room, looking in on Sam’s unconscious form.

_If you wanted to kill your brother, you should have done it outright._ He knew Cas was more or less incapable of being gentle with his words, but as they resonated inside Dean, shaking through him like the ominous echo of thunder in the distance, he was trying not to drown in his internal dissidence. The last time he was this messed up was when he kissed Sam for the first time, _really_ kissed him, like he shouldn’t have been kissing him, when Sam was still just a kid. He’d been torn up inside over that - what lead up to it - for ages, the desire for his brother beyond anything else he could fathom and eventually succumbed to against his better judgement, but - perhaps the only grace in his nightmarish life - that had been the right choice, in the end. Who could have known Sam was just as wrapped up in and overwhelmed by his love for Dean, a love that would go on to define and sustain them through the years of bullshit that followed, including Sam’s running away from the life, from Dad, from _him_ , losing Jessica, coming back to Dean only to lose him to Hell and get him back broken, and then - the fucking Apocalypse?! Dean’s heart was as bursting with love and want for Sam as it ever had been; Nothing seemed able to dim those feelings, not Lisa and Ben, not thinking Sam was dead that whole time, not even the strange, anesthetized and clinical likeness of his brother that he’d been stuck with these last few agonizing months.

When Sam came and ripped him away from his shamble of a life with Lisa, Dean had barely been able to keep his head on straight through his relief and anger and confusion but even that first time he’d taken Sam into his arms, desperate and mindless with need after thinking him dead, Dean knew something was off. It only got worse the next few times, Sam feeling like a stranger to him despite being Sam: harsher, distant, unable to let Dean connect with him they way they used to. They’d always had a tendency to be rough but somehow he had become ruthless, selfish in a way that was sort of frightening in its distinctly not-Sam kind of way. It didn’t take long before he had to distance himself from his brother, his touch making his skin crawl while Sam seemed indifferent and a little oblivious, maybe even relieved, much to Dean’s worsening sense of hurt and betrayal.

By the time Dean understood what was wrong with Sam, he was relieved he wasn’t going crazy or getting his heart broken beyond repair - his brother outgrowing him for real being one of his most deeply rooted fears - and he was consumed by the mission of getting Sam’s soul back, pretty much at any cost. Sam was back but he wasn’t back and the ‘close enough’ was far from that, in many ways worse, taunting Dean, making his heart hopeful and tempted but unsated and reckless, his body strung out and tense with _want_ and _please_ and _oh God, Sam_ and no sufficient release.

He was well aware that on some level - okay, lots of levels - insisting on Sam getting his soul back despite all the warnings was selfish. Dean knew he was - in many ways - doing this for himself. He was back in the game now, hunting again, and the only way he knew or cared to live that life was with his brother riding shotgun, beside him in the car and _with_ him, _together_ , because it’s the best they’ve both ever been, when they know without a doubt that they have each other, and everything they do is for each other's sake.

That being said, there was plenty of evidence that he didn’t have a choice either way, letting Robo Sam carry on having come way too close to ending Bobby’s life, but Cas was implying an alternative that Dean could never consider, not when there was even a _chance_ he could get his Sam back. As long as there was even a sliver of possibility, Dean would always take it - every time. Protecting Sam was who he was, written into his own soul and felt deep in his bones, and underneath all of his self-loathing, doubt and worry, there was a piece of him that knew implicitly that _his_ Sam understood, because they were one and the same; if things were reversed Sam would fight tooth and nail to get Dean back, because if Dean knew anything about Sam, it was that nothing would keep him from his big brother, not even Dean’s own attempts to resist him once upon a time.

Sam shifted on the old bed in the panic room, the squeak and creak of the rusty springs pulling Dean from the swirling void of his thoughts and bringing his eyes to baby brother. He was still out, but Dean drank in every easy breath he watched Sam take, tried to let the rhythm of it calm the tremor he felt wracking him with the persistent nagging of Cas’ warnings, the still fresh sound of Sam’s anguished cries ringing in his ears from when Death reverse-Aliened his soul back where it belonged. Dean knew he wasn’t helping either of them standing there like a distraught ghost haunting Sam’s body, so he resolved to head upstairs and try to distract himself with Bobby, or booze, or both. Anything, really.

Dean was subdued somewhat to see that Bobby had the telltale signs of a new case spread out on his desk as he handed over a tumbler three fingers full of whiskey. Dean heard himself ask to help, even go to the library if that’s what Bobby needed, but he was only sort of present while listening to Bobby talk details; his whole heart was exposed and vulnerable outside the cage of his ribs, instead lying down in the iron warded room in Bobby’s basement, comatose and with an uncertain future. It was the kind of gaping hole that made it difficult to focus on much else. Luckily, Dean knew it was hardly something he ever needed to explain to Bobby, who did his best to keep track of what Dean was hearing and what he wasn’t, and only gave him tasks he could handle based on the level of Sam-related distraction, which realistically - at this exact moment - was not much of anything. Bobby wasn’t yet settled on what he was going to have Dean do, but then, it seemed they wouldn’t have to cross that bridge after all.

“Dean.”

Dean’s spine might as well have melted right out of his body at the sound, his name in Sam’s voice, _his Sam’s_ voice, familiar, soft and a little broken, carrying all the things it always did, delivering them to him for the first time since he saw Sam jump into the pit. He used his faltering strength to set his glass down and turn to the source. He was on his feet before he could question if his knees would keep him there.

“Sam?”

He wasn’t sure if he kept the waver out of his voice, because he was trembling again, though different from before. He didn’t know what to expect from Sam, but he was deliriously hopeful, and as he took a step toward his little brother he could read it all on his face: Sam was _Sam_ , _his_ , Dean saw it in the way his eyes glistened as they fell on him, he saw it in the telltale blink he always did when he was trying to keep it all in, the twitch of his lips in an almost-smile that meant the same thing, and then - most of all - he felt it against body. Sam took him in him as tight and as close as he could, his arms around Dean and shaking as he held him there, chest to chest. Dean was dizzy in the embrace, having needed this for so long and barely able to believe it was here again. He felt Sam shiver, felt the way he knew his brother was screwing up his face to lock it down in front of Bobby though he didn’t stop from burrowing his face into Dean’s shoulder. Dean could _feel_ the way his baby brother needed him, it was the most reassuring, empowering thing he knew. Sam reminded him who he was, what he was capable of, ignited something deep in his bones and illuminated his soul so he felt human again, so he could feel whole even though he, too, was damaged by Hell and all the garbage of a life spent hunting. When Sam took a quivering deep breath and forced himself to let Dean go, Dean felt his hesitation to do so just as surely as he was barely able to bring himself to step back and clear Sam’s path to Bobby.

\---

“Fuck- _Sam_ -” Dean was on him before he got out all of his name.

They had sat around the kitchen table trying to figure out Sam’s status, what he remembered, and remedy his hunger with all the sandwich materials Bobby could scrounge up. All of the loaf, three sandwiches, and a guilty look from Sam said he was still hungry later, Bobby had nodded stiffly and took off on a supply run, grumbling something along the lines of ‘imagine you boys have some catching up to do’ on his way out the door. Dean hadn’t been listening all that intently. Instead, his body was tight and on edge like the string drawn on a bow, his blood hot and buzzing as it raced through his veins, frantic and aching for when he could next lay a hand on his brother.

Sam had moved to the sink to lay down his dishes as Bobby dressed to leave. Dean had been trying to look nonchalant leaning against the frame of the opening to the study, keeping his eyes off Sam as much as he could bear to in front of Bobby, trying not to drum his fingers to impatiently on his arm where they were crossed in front of his chest. By the time Bobby had pulled the door closed behind him, Sam was leaning back against the counter, eyes locked with Dean’s, and everything Dean was feeling was echoed there - Sam’s eyes had always told stories, had always charmed their witnesses and gotten them in or out of tight places, and had always told Dean all the things they both struggled to put into words. While Sam had been soulless, they had told Dean nothing. It had been one of the most disconcerting elements of Robo Sam, and seeing everything now in their perfect, endless hazel, Dean was struck with how much he had missed seeing into Sam that way. They seemed frozen in time, staring at each other from opposite sides of the room, listening for the sounds of Bobby starting up his truck. By the time the wheels started to crunch through the gravel of the scrapyard, Dean could see Sam’s chest was rising and falling in heavy, shaky waves like his own. The sounds of Bobby’s truck started to fade away and that was just _it_.

They met each other halfway, Sam’s mouth swallowing the end of his name as Dean tried to get it out. Sam’s hands flew to Dean’s face, his giant paws cupping his jaw in a desperate grip. Dean might’ve fallen back with the force of it but he had been ready, his step and stance wide and grounded to keep them from tipping. In the next heartbeat his hands were on Sam’s hips, fisting in his shirt, walking him back to force him against the counter. Sam let him move them, focused instead on tilting his brother’s face and fucking into him with his tongue, hungry and seeking, drinking him in like he would certainly die if he didn’t. Dean moaned as Sam sucked hard on his lower lip, too overwhelmed to give a shit about any sound he knew Sam would coax from him. His hands were up the back of Sam’s shirt now, pulling and pressing into the smooth, never-ending expanse of his back, feeling how the muscles rippled under his fingers as Sam moved his arms, still manhandling Dean’s face to take everything he wanted - everything he needed - from his big brother.

Dean was quickly becoming lightheaded from Sam’s kiss, oxygen on short supply between the way his blood had abandoned most of his body in favour of pooling in his solid, throbbing dick and Sam was literally taking his breath away, desperate to keep the air between them because nothing else would do. Sam must’ve been in a similar way because finally he pulled back, panting and gasping, and Dean slipped his hands to Sam’s hips, keeping them still while he leaned against him and circled his hips, dragging his own across the fiery edge of Sam’s cock where it was trapped between them.

“ _Dean_ ,” it was a long, breathy moan as Sam’s head went back and hit the cupboard behind him none too gently, not that he seemed to even notice. Dean saw all that neck, so pretty and exposed, and dove in teeth first, nipping at the skin below Sam’s ear, teasing it with little bites and then nursing at it with hard sucks and flicks of his tongue. Sam whined at the pain and groaned at the pleasure, one hand back to brace him on the counter and the other on the back of Dean’s head, encouraging. All the while Dean ground their hips together, the heat and friction driving him wild, making his work of Sam’s neck a little less focused. He was as close to Sam as he could get given the way they were both still maddeningly fully dressed, and it was so, so far from good enough.

“I know, I know- _uh_ , I know, Dean. S’okay, I- _ah_ , I’m here. Right here,” Sam was murmuring as best as he could with the little air he could keep in his lungs, the hand on the back of Dean’s head stroking gently, and his reassuring tone called to Dean, made him listen. It took him a moment to realize that against Sam’s neck he was babbling thoughtlessly, caught himself saying things that sounded an awful lot like _missed you, Sammy, Sam, missed you so much, need you baby boy, been lost without you_ \- things he would never even entertain saying under other circumstances but Sam undid him. A part of him - a voice that was almost completely overpowered by _Sam_ \- was trying to tell him to shut up but Sam was louder than any voice Dean knew, wining out like he always did, and Dean couldn’t even bring himself to care. He kept at Sam’s neck, lower and lower until he was biting hard into the meat of Sam’s shoulder, Sam was crying out and pulling at Dean’s hair, and their moans were loud in the small kitchen. Dean soothed the bite with his tongue, lapping at it gently and tracing the marks he’d made, pressing his lips to it in a reverent kiss, turning Sam’s cry into a whimper that sent shivers through him.

“De- _ah, Dean_ , what- what do you need? Any- _ah_ , anything, Dean, tell me,” Sam had brought both hands to Dean’s jaw to lift his face and make him look at Sam’s, the diverse colours of his eyes almost nonexistent now for the black that swallowed them up. Sam’s beautiful face was flushed and his lips were puffy and glistening and dark; Dean couldn’t fight the small sounds that came from low in his throat when he looked at him, the very sight of his brother - _his Sam_ \- that he’d been without for days, months, years, lifetimes - looking at him like that, it damn near made him want to cry. _Don’t you fucking dare_ , the voice said, sharp even from inside the trunk where Dean had shoved it. He blinked hard against the feeling and swallowed thickly before kissing at those lips, more gently now, letting Sam calm the moment.

“Please,” he breathed into Sam’s mouth, around his tongue, their noses nudging together as Sam’s thumbs caressed the apples of his cheeks. “Need- need to feel you, Sammy, please. Let me- need to be inside you.”

Sam moaned at the request, arching into Dean and deepening their kiss, his grip on Dean’s face tightening. Dean shuddered against him, his body alight, loving every feeling but needing more, desperate to drown in a sea of _Sam_.

“Up- _uh, Sam_ , upstairs,” Dean hated to have to take his hands or lips off his brother for even a second but all his lube was upstairs in the duffle by his bed, and then they could lock the door just in case Bobby was back a little too soon. He meant it as he said it but his hands were still roaming Sam’s back and hips, his tongue was still plundering Sam’s mouth, and after a few long moments Sam was laughing around it, understanding. Dean loved the way Sam’s smile felt against his lips; he had missed seeing it, had missed tasting it, had missed it pressed close and inseparable from his own.

“C’mon, Dean,” he chuckled, trying to wriggle away from his brother. “Race you.” He managed to duck away and Dean just caught the playful glint in his eyes. He was only stunned for a moment as Sam smacked his ass and took off down the hallway as best he could considering the awkward presence straining in his jeans and making them tight, just like Dean’s.

Dean’s heart danced in his chest as he tore after Sam, watching his shaggy head of hair move about his head in its ridiculous way and the shape of his amazing ass as he took the stairs two and three at a time - those friggin’ Sasquatch legs - and Sam’s laugh ahead of him in the upstairs hall was a Siren song he’d follow into the depths any day. For the briefest of moments Dean was swept away, the whole thing surreal, walking through a memory that almost felt like it belonged to someone else after everything they’d been through since: they were just kids again, Sam long and coltish - still with his stupid hair - and this thing between them was new - not how they felt but what they did - and Sam was the world’s _biggest_ tease, egging Dean on until he was strung out and twitchy and primed to give chase, pin his younger brother and make him take it, all exactly to Sam’s plan.

By the time Dean had closed and locked the bedroom door, finally turning to look at Sam, his brother had already toed off his shoes and lost his shirts. He was working on his belt and when he glanced up at Dean the smile he gave him was blinding, his still flushed cheeks deeply dimpled and his lust-dark eyes shining, challenging. Dean couldn’t think of a single thing that could compare in beauty to his baby brother. He felt like such a girl even thinking it but it didn’t make less true. He could feel the smile on his own face as he beamed back at Sam, knowing he must look just as debauched and ridiculous, and he started to strip as fast as he could. Sam had found the lube in his bag and tossed it at the foot of the bed while he clambered up towards the pillows at the head. He turned to look at Dean just as Dean was setting his knees to the bed, slow and predatory because that’s how Sam made him feel, and he had to savour the sight of his brother naked, his incredible cock hard and wet at the tip, all spread out and displayed just for him, smiling sweetly and giving a look that was completely incendiary - somehow innocent and begging all at once, something only Sam could ever pull off.   

“Jesus, _Sammy_ , look so good. So pretty for me, baby boy. _Fuck_ , missed you so damn much,” Dean’s mouth was doing its own thing again, heedless of that annoying voice that tried to muffle the words. Sam shivered at them though, smiling all the wider,  so Dean called it a win. Sam’s eyes were bright and followed Dean’s as he came to stop in the space that Sam made for him between his legs, resting back on his heels to slick up his fingers. Dean leaned over him as he let his hand reach, mouth close and poised to capture the gasp Sam made when his fingers finally brushed under his balls and started easing lower. Dean could only bear to tease at Sam’s hole for precious few seconds before he had to slip his first digit in all the way. There was only a tiny bit of resistance but all the pressure in the world and _fuck_ \- they both sucked in a breath at the intrusion, Sam’s face screwed up against the stretch and Dean’s doing the same at the way his brother’s body pulled at him, hot and wet and perfect. Sam relaxed and pushed down on Dean’s hand with his hips but arched up into Dean’s mouth, sucking at his lips and tongue, whatever Dean would give him. One of Sam’s hands was gripping his shoulder and the other was at his elbow, trying to urge him deeper. Dean fought to pull his arm back enough that he could go back in with two and Sam sighed his name in a way that made Dean’s dick jump and drip where it hung between them. Dean had to close his eyes at the sound, letting it wash over him in waves of shimmering fire that settled low in his belly. He hated to think how long it’d been since Sam had said his name like that and hearing it now was like a shot of the best stuff going, intoxicating and setting Dean completely ablaze.

“Sam, fuck-” Dean all but growled as he sealed his mouth over Sam’s, licking deep into wet heat of it just as he slipped in a third finger and started to really stretch his brother for him, scissoring them, petting his prostate and making him writhe. Dean shuddered at the way Sam whimpered around his tongue, his brother’s hands clutching at him and his nails biting little half moons into Dean’s skin. It was all Dean could take. He withdrew his fingers and went for the lube, and Sam breath hitched at the loss.

“ _Dean, please_ ,” he gasped, pawing at his big brother’s shoulders and pulling at him. “Ne- need you, Dean. _Fuck_.”

“I’m coming, Sammy, hold on,” he was gentle as he breathed the words, panting himself as he took his own dick in hand and coated it in lube, thrusting into his fist because he couldn’t resist the friction. Sam watched him all the while, his forehead resting against Dean’s and looking between them.

“Dean, _do it_. Fuck me, _please_. Gotta feel you,” he had sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and was worrying it with his teeth. Dean loved how it made him look so young, just his little brother, the same little brother he’d been missing for so long, who had fought off Lucifer and jumped in the cage to save the world, to save Dean, the same little brother whose soul had been trapped in that Hellish prison with the goddamn Devil for the last year and-

Dean choked. He had just pushed the tip of him past the first ring of muscle and between the delicious pressure of it and the nightmare of his baby brother’s torture - there was no stopping it.

“ _Sam_ ,” he cried, his voice breaking. Their foreheads were still together and one of Sam’s hands came up to his face, holding it gently.

“Dean, _Dean_ \- it’s okay, I got you. I got you, brother.” Sam whispered it against his lips and Dean squeezed his eyes tightly though it was too late, he could feel at least the one tear sliding down his cheek. He huffed out a laugh despite himself; Sam had been the one getting messed up by Satan and Dean was somehow still the one crying during sex and _Jesus_ he felt ridiculous but he was too far gone now. Sam had been dead - _he’d been dead_ \- and then he’d been walking around next to Dean as holy hell the hottest thing Dean had ever laid eyes on but he hadn’t been _Sam_ and now he was back, really back, and-

Suddenly Sam was bearing down and they were both crying out as he took Dean in, his burning hot length disappearing inside his brother’s body, bringing them back together just the way Dean needed, bringing Dean home. 

“Oh God, Sam. Sammy, Sam, baby, shit- _ah, ah, ah_ ,” Dean felt like he was short circuiting, a skipping record stuck on his brother’s name, and he could feel Sam’s thumb stroking his face but it felt a million miles away because everything began and ended with the incredible clutch of his brother’s body as it gripped him, hot and smooth and tight- _fuck_ , so tight and every bit carved out a perfect hollow meant just for Dean. He fucked into him with abandon and Sam arched to meet him in time, echoing Dean’s iterations of his name with whispers of the same. He ducked his head around just so he could lick up the stripe of Dean’s face where his tear left a salty trail, pressing his lips to crinkles at the corner of Dean’s eye and the tenderness of the touch was a shocking point of contrast to the way Dean was thrusting into him, made him shiver, and he felt it all the way to his toes. They started to curl and he could feel his balls starting to draw up, heavy and close to his body where it was slamming into Sam. Still mumbling Sam’s name or something like it, Dean reached for his brother’s cock and made a fist around it for him to fuck into, pulling and squeezing at the top.

“Dean, _uh_ , I’m gonna- _fuck_!” Just like that Sam was coming, his dick pulsing in Dean’s hand as the warm wet of him spilled over his fingers. He curled into Dean, white-knuckling where he he held him, one hand on his shoulder and the other still clutching at his jaw. Dean felt it from the inside and at the first ripple of it he was coming with his brother. Sam’s name ripped from his lips as he pumped him full, shuddering against him. Everything was intense and white hot, his body somewhere far away, and he was just floating.

“Hey… hey, you still with me?” Sam’s voice came to him through a fog, quiet, distant. It got louder at the end, and he heard Sam chuckle softly, felt his hands running lightly up and down his back and the warm, wet mess that was all over his stomach from where he must’ve collapsed onto his brother. Sam was kissing the side of his face and he could feel it was wet and refused to acknowledge the possibility it was from more tears.

“Sam…” Dean’s voice was wrecked; he barely recognized it as he weakly got out his brother’s name. He sighed, resigned. He couldn’t hide from Sam, and if he was being honest, he didn’t want to, not anymore. He’d had to hide from the soulless Sam he’d been stuck with but this Sam? This Sam was his, and he’d always been the only person who accepted Dean for everything he was, broken and fucked up and all the rest, and knew how to love him anyway. Dean wasn’t sure about a lot of things but he knew without question that without Sam he could never be anywhere close to whole. Sam was hugging him tightly, even though Dean must’ve been crushing him with his mostly dead weight, and he was practically purring as he kept pressing his lips chastely to the shell of Dean’s ear, the edge of his eye, his brow, forehead, and cheekbone. Dean just melted into him, soaked it all up.

“Missed you,” he mumbled, the words muffled into the crook of Sam’s neck. He felt Sam smile against his temple.

“I know. Don’t have to miss me anymore, Dean. ‘M not going anywhere. Not gonna leave you. Could never leave you.”

Dean’s breath caught in his chest at Sam’s words, relief and a dozen other things flooding his already crashed system. Being with Sam made him happy in ways he didn’t remember he could be. He hugged his brother a little more tightly and burrowed his face closer, planted a kiss on the top of Sam’s shoulder, tasting the echo of salt there. He knew they would have to move and get cleaned up eventually. He was softening inside his brother’s body, could feel his come dripping out around him, making more of a mess, but Sam didn’t seem to be too bothered at the moment and he was is no hurry to let him go either. Sam was giving him this one, and Dean wasn’t too proud to take it.

Dean fell asleep to the faltering rhythm of his brother’s hands moving on his skin as he fell asleep, too. He dreamed of Heaven, and Sam was with him.

**Author's Note:**

> In my mind, Bobby leaves for supplies and when he comes back and doesn’t see the boys, he puts the food away and goes out to the garage to work on the car (he’s not an idjit, not when it comes to Sam and Dean). Dean wakes up first. He cleans them up and leaves Sam tucked in bed. Then we get the scene where he brings a beer out to Bobby where he's working and Dean is grinning from ear to ear.


End file.
